My energy is good, and I haven’t a coherent thought in my head. I’m moving about with my mind at fast idle, its engine occasionally revving into happy song, but I haven’t the focus to entertain an entire lyric. This is resulting in a happy, humming Scott moving with all the focus and purposeful intent of a tipsy butterfly, every few minutes bursting into song for the duration of a single line, a line that has no relation to the one that leapt forth moments before.
“…hm, hmm-hmmmm…I got sunshine in a bag…hm-hmmmm…sang the streets a serenade…hmmmm…la, hm-hm…
“…It’s like some kind of torture — to have to watch this show!”
I feel like Ethel Merman with Tourette’s.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry